


When in Rome

by Brownies96



Series: Good Omens Missing Chapters [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Ancient Rome, Fall of Rome, M/M, Multi, Other, all the food, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 13:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21037031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brownies96/pseuds/Brownies96
Summary: To the end of the Roman Empire, our favourite angel and demon continue to dance around each other (and they say angels can't dance).





	1. Emperors are dropping like flies

193AD The Year of the 5 Emperors – Outside the Temple of Vesta, Rome

Crowley gave the Aedile his most serpentine grin, “You can just replace the hand and face, no need to build a whole new statue,” Crowley said, handing over the carved marble and leaning closer to the Aedile, “and between you and me, you’ll probably need a few, emperors are dropping like flies.”

The Aedile, a sensible man named Marcus Aurelius, took the offered statue parts and made haste away from their vendor. This was not a good time to be in Rome, nor to be elected to a public office, but Marcus Aurelius believed it possible to survive both, but when he had looked at that vendor, he was afraid he had seen something truly sinister. Perhaps an omen from the gods. He would try to find a way to get out of Rome. As soon as he had ensured the statues were all changed to Pescennius Niger from Didius Julianus.

Crowley watched Marcus Aurelius’ back warily. These were unusual times in Rome. Well, not really unusual, but the humans were more open about their propensity for quick and easy murder than ever before. Crowley could spot, seven – no eight – assassins from his vantage point by the Temple of Vesta.

The temple had been rather fun, he would change his appearance and seek refuge there as a young woman going by the name Antonia Corva. Then, by day he would leave for some errand and change to the form he wore now. The guardians of the temple – though not aptly named – certainly knew how to have a good time, and they did not question their charge’s frequent disappearances.

“Ugh.” Crowley heaved a sigh as he saw Marcellus enter the forum. The bidding for his ‘wares’ which travelled behind him in iron chains, would drown out Crowley’s own marketing, and that was definitely what upset him, not the people in chains, he was a demon for pity’s sake, demons love people in chains.

“Shall we begin with a thousand sesterces?” Marcellus boomed as he held a slave by the neck.

Miraculously Crowley’s interchangeable statue parts vanished and he was unencumbered as he began to walk away from the forum. He saw a flash of white but that wasn’t important, he was walking away. He was definitely walking away. His feet turned around, seemingly without any direction from his head.

Aziraphale hid behind the group of slaves. Nobody would have noticed him if they weren’t looking for him, but of course Crowley was never not looking for him. Because they were adversaries. Rivals. That sort of thing. Obviously.

Then came that feeling, not the terrible unwelcome ones that crept up on Crowley and whacked him on the head with a cast iron frying pan, the one that told him a miracle was happening nearby. And it truly was.

With a great clang, the shackles of about 50 slaves fell to the stone floor of the forum. Marcellus raised his great whip in anger but he was just a moment too late. The former slaves ran, they leapt over carts selling cabbages, they raced for the port, they ran at the people who had been their guards and were now their victims.

Among the madness, Marcellus’ head lashed about as if he could stop his escapees with only his eyes. Perhaps he thought he could, those who went to foreign countries and captured their people and turned them into cargo were seldom of stable and virtuous mind. But his gaze inched closer and closer to Aziraphale, who had found himself caught in the throes of the crowd.

Crowley was not able to stop himself. He moved quickly, with the danger and purpose of a striking snake, woe betide the prey item. He tapped one of the former slaves on the shoulder, she was a young woman, probably 17 or so.

“Can you speak Hebrew?” He asked her.

Her eyes went wide and she nodded.

“I’ll give you enough money to get yourself and whoever you can get. To go with you home, if you smack that shithead over the head with this.” He handed her a large plank of wood and she grinned. He watched her run up to Marcellus, her way made clear with some demonic guidance and smack him over the head so hard there was a resounding smack that echoed through the forum.

Marcellus tumbled down, yeah that would be fatal. Probably because of the carefully placed metal nail. Crowley felt Marcellus’ soul fall downwards. He hoped Hastur and Ligur had fun with that one.

He moved across the crowd and grabbed Aziraphale by the toga and pulled him back towards the Temple of Vesta.

“Crowley’ we can’t go in the-,” Aziraphale began, his mind only just beginning to catch up with what had happened.

“Oh make an effort, Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed, already changing into the form he had gotten used to as Antonia. The two, now woman-shaped (whatever that meant), entered the temple and were safe, at least for the moment. The sacred flame burnt brightly and it’s attendant, Luna, gave ‘Antonia’ a lazy smile.

“You’re back early, Antonia,” she said.

“Found someone who needed help,” Crowley replied, gesturing to Aziraphale.

“Head on through, dears,” she said, her eyes returning to the flame.

“Aziraphale what were you thinking?” Crowley said, as soon as they were alone.

“The chains-“ Aziraphale replied, her voice full of worry, “And the – oh dear – how are they going to get home?”

“S’taken care of,” Crowley said. She’d never seen Aziraphale take a feminine form before, it suited her.

“Oh, oh you didn’t,” Aziraphale replied, not sure whether to feel grateful or upset. This was a common dilemma whenever Crowley was involved.

“The one that hit him, she got a way out in exchange.” Crowley looked at the floor.

“I see.” Aziraphale also cast her gaze downwards, despite the floor being stone and not especially interesting. “So, this is where you’ve been staying.”

“Safest place to make sure I’m not assassinated,” Crowley replied.

“These are difficult times,” Aziraphale echoed the sentiment of most of Rome. “Do you think things will die down soon. Outside, I mean.”

Crowley wasn’t sure what else Aziraphale might have meant, “Give it a while longer,” she advised, and then paused, “Did you ever get that copy of Natural History?”

“I did! It was exactly as you said, I saw the same vendor selling it the next day for several times the price I paid.”

“Good,” said Crowley, the word feeling odd in her mouth. She looked around, Flavia and Olivia would be returning soon to relieve Luna from tending the fire.

“I know a place not far from here that does excellent honeyed dormice, been meaning to try it out,” Crowley said, hoping she sounded casual and uninterested (she didn’t).

“Oh really?” Aziraphale’s interest was piqued.

“Yeah, but we’d have to change back, being out in Rome as a woman . . . Not fun,” Crowley replied.

“Oh? I’ve, erm, never tried it before, or ever really.” Aziraphale looked down self-consciously.

Crowley enjoyed the excuse to look Aziraphale over, “You’ve done well enough. I wouldn’t have known.”

“Oh, oh thank you.”

The popina was down an alley that backed onto the temple, so it was easy enough to get to. What was not easy was finding a place to change back into man-shaped corporations. They had to hide behind a statue (once that Crowley had sold funnily enough) and wait until no one was paying any attention.

Crowley had worried for a moment that Aziraphale would leave, given that so much changing and changing back was involved in this little escapade of theirs, but he needn’t have been; the food at the popina was good enough to justify a lot more work. And eventually, Crowley would see just how far Aziraphale was willing to go for good food.

“This is wonderful,” Aziraphale smiled, lightly dabbing at his chin to clean of any remnants of honey. Crowley hoped his glasses his just how much he was staring.

“I am quite grateful for your . . .” Aziraphale trailed off.

“Don’t say help,” Crowley hissed.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Aziraphale agreed. “Still, it was unusual that we were both able to do our jobs without interfering with the other.”

“’Suppose,” Crowley said. Aziraphale might have thought that he was covering his tracks, but Crowley knew Heaven hadn’t sent Aziraphale to do what he’d done. They weren’t fans of chaos, even if it was for a good cause. What Aziraphale had done, he’d done because of his own feelings, his own moral compass. Just like when he’d given away his flaming sword 4,197 years ago. Not that Crowley was counting. Sort of like how he didn’t feel like his insides were melting into a puddle of goo in the most pleasant way possible. This was dangerous. It was moments like these when Crowley was almost afraid, not of Aziraphale, but of himself.

“Well, I had best be getting on, lunch was excellent.” Aziraphale got up to go. Crowley thought about stopping him, but it was probably for the best. It was definitely for the best.

Antonia Corva did not return to the Temple of Vesta. In fact, no one in Rome knew where she’d gone. Crowley knew he’d have to leave Rome, if just for a little while. He needed a rest.


	2. A great bolt of lightning

313AD – Milan

Salutaria!” The three men indicated their glassed to one another and drank. Two wore togas of violent purple, the other white. There were no cheers in the streets below, for no one else knew what this meeting had brought about and none of them would know until a formal announcement had been made.

For his part, Aziraphale was tired. Not in the human, needing to sleep way. But a sort of bone-deep fatigue that seemed to pull his enjoyment of anything just beyond his reach. He itched for the job to be over. There was so much he wanted to see and do, and sitting about in the parliaments of Rome was nowhere on his list. Hopefully soon he could return to Campana and not return until he had eaten his way through every popinae and tabernae on the Amalfi coast.

Still, he wore his friendly smile and drank late into the night, surrounded by the two Emperors of Rome, men who knew so little of the world but thought themselves so important, and tried to think of something he could do to make himself feel better.

When the sun rose the following morning, the Edict of Milan was announced, Christianity was legalised in Rome and the property that had been taken from their places of worship was to be restored. Aziraphale watched, expressionless, as the announcement was made to the senators in Milan. Several consuls jumped to their feet, determined to argue as if the edict had not already passed.

“Caesars,” beseeched one consul, “the great traditions of our forefathers-“

Aziraphale had heard that argument more times than he cared to count. He flicked his hand and the door nearest to him swung open. He took a step outside. Just for a breath of fresh air, he told himself. The forum, this early, smelt of fresh baked bread and smoke from the woodfire ovens. People greeted each other and bartered for their early meals in a comfortable, familiar sort of way. The sun peaked out from behind a cloud, bathing everything in Her light. Things, Aziraphale reminded himself, were not always as bad as they seemed.

“Should’ve known you’d be here,” said a honeyed voice on his left, “Aziraphale.”

“Good morning,” said Aziraphale, trying to keep his tone professional and stand-offish, he was after all, working. Well, he was only taking a small break.

“I suppose I have you to thank for all this,” Crawle -no - Crowley’s tone made it clear he was not remotely thankful.

“Erm, well,” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t about to apologise for doing his job.

“Got recalled downstairss you know,” Crowley said, “My lot have a lot to ssay about thiss legalissation thing. Whatever they’re calling it.”

“The Edict of Milan,” Aziraphale replied, not liking how small his voice sounded. Crowley sounded furious, not a hot fury that burned itself out, but a cold one, a calculating one. The kind of fury that reminded Aziraphale that it was a demon he spoke to.

“But of courssse, it wass you. And it’s too late to sstop it, issn’t it?” Crowley leant towards him, he looked at Aziraphale meaningfully. When Aziraphale caught his eye he saw something, this was not an angry glare. Aziraphale stretched out his awareness and he felt it, beneath the smoky layer of Crowley’s scent he could feel more brimstone, and this lot was far less friendly and familiar to him. Crowley was . . . Well he was doing something and if Aziraphale managed to get out of this situation without being discorporated, he’d try to figure out what.

Was Crowley helping him? That seemed unlikely, impossible even. But he didn’t have another explanation, nor the time to examine his options further.

“Good,” Aziraphale said with finality, “I’ve thwarted the plans of Hell now, as I intend to do forever.”

Was Aziraphale just confused from everything that was unfolding around him, or had Crowley just given him the tiniest of nods.

“In fact, by Her Power and Grace, I will do much more than that now.” He hoped he’d manage this; it was the exact sort of thing he almost never did. He reached into his true form, his essence and called up to the sky, as he had seen thousands of other angels do. He made a small bubble to protect himself, and oh will you look at that, Crowley just happened to be close enough that he was protected too.

A great bolt of lightning surged from the sky, its blue light illuminating every crevice of the forum. The crack was so loud that Aziraphale felt it more than he heard it. And with that the demons were gone. He quickly miracled away the memories of the people in the forum. It had just been a trick of the light, after all.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, he must have hit the ground when the lightning had come. Aziraphale wanted to hold out his hand, to help Crowley up after he had essentially just saved him from walking into an ambush. But he couldn’t. Not when he’d just drawn so much power from Heaven. Someone would be coming to check on him any minute.

“Go,” Aziraphale whispered, “quickly.”

And Crowley was gone, leaving only a trace of his smoky scent behind.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel appeared before him. “Very well done. What was that, four, five demons? Excellent smiting.”

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale, his eyes lingering on the spot where Crowley had been.

“Excellent work, Aziraphale, excellent. I’ll make sure everyone upstairs knows just how well you’ve done.”

Aziraphale didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to think, let alone say.


	3. Storm-tossed Waters

476AD Rome

“Now this is more like it!” Ligur leaned over the edge of what had once been a block of Insulae. “Nothing like the smell of a city being torn to the ground.”

“Yeah, nothing like it at all, very . . . atmospheric,” Crowley said, leaning against what had once been a foundation pillar.

“That angel,” Hastur said from behind them both, “Aziraphale. He Hasn’t noticed you since . . .”

“Milan? No. And even if he did, he couldn’t have stopped this,” Crowley said, his voice only slightly sulky.

“After last time . . .” Hastur began.

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know. Look, I’ve been dealing with him for years now. Millenia. I got out of it alright. It was just the idiots you sent with me.” Crowley was determined to make sure he wasn’t sent out with ‘backup’ again.

“We have spoken to the dark council about it,” Hastur said hoarsely.

“They agreed you work best alone.” Ligur added.

“Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it? We aren’t exactly the friendly sort,” Crowley huffed. Hastur and Ligur nodded in agreement. “Well, not that this isn’t fun, but I’m gonna head down there and join in,” Crowley added, jumping off the rubble melodramatically and running into the fray.

It was true that Crowley hadn’t seen Aziraphale since Milan, not for a lack of wanting. But something always stopped him from seeking the angel out. He was relieved, thrilled even, that Aziraphale had caught onto what he was doing. But he was still conflicted about it. He hadn’t seen Holy wrath like that since the Fall and seeing Aziraphale be the one to call it down had been, well, terrifying. Also rather hot.

He’d always known Aziraphale was strong, after all, She wouldn’t chose just anyone to guard the Eastern Gate. But he hadn’t really understood how strong. Certainly more than capable of destroying Crowley in seconds. But then why hadn’t he? He’d had plenty of opportunities to. Why was it that, all those years ago, Aziraphale had held out his wing in shelter, rather than his sword in anger. Well, obviously, he’d given the sword away because he was just that empathetic that he couldn’t abandon the creatures even after they had rejected God’s light. Oh shit. Was he thinking of himself or Adam and Eve? Was Aziraphale’s capacity to care all that stood between him and the wrong end of a lightning bolt? And why didn’t that thought scare his as much as it should?

This was ridiculous, he couldn’t be thinking about Aziraphale, not then. After all he had a city to destroy. Well, maim. He wasn’t about to go destroying every piece of evidence that Rome had ever been there. And the ‘Barbarians’ were doing most of the work. He had just happened to open the gate for them, right when he knew Hastur and Ligur were looking.

He’d had to do something to redeem himself in Hell’s eyes after Milan.

He watched that awful statue of Julius Caesar topple and he grinned. That’s what you get for Babylon and Aziraphale’s library, he thought.

He watched the few remaining Roman citizens run for the walls. You’d have to be pretty stupid to think sticking around was a good idea. Crowley had watched plenty of Empires fall at this point, but this, this was something else. He shifted his appearance. Antonia hadn’t been around for a while, and something about being her just felt fitting.

The woman in black raced through the streets towards the exits, people did not turn to look at her because they were running too. People did not see that she didn’t trip or falter and they certainly didn’t notice that a few of the buildings she ran past toppling down for no apparent reason. She did not exit the city, she raced around it, looking at the ruins of Rome.

It was true, there would be things she missed, but she was a demon and the chaos around her spun into a kind of energy that consumed her, it felt like the power she drew upon to perform demonic miracles. It was vindictive, petty, spiteful, and utterly satisfying. Crowley revelled in it.

For the last century and a half she had felt utterly out of her own, like a nothing made sense and there was nothing for her to do. She was a sailor on a boat in storm-tossed waters, unable to do anything to control where she was going. But here, amid the chaos of a fallen city, she felt better. Not because her own struggle had ceased, but because the outside world better reflected what was going on in her own mind.

And that was when she saw him. The figure in white, always white. Aziraphale held the gate to Ostia open, helping people make their escape. That was so utterly him. He could have destroyed everything, but he was doing his best to help it. She should have known better than to approach him, she really should. Especially now that she had seen what he was capable of. But she couldn’t. Asking her not to approach Aziraphale was like ordering a human not to breathe.

“Hello Aziraphale,” she said, holding the opposite gate.

“Cr-Crowley.” Aziraphale peered into the city, looking to see if there were anymore.

“I think you’ve managed to get just about everyone out. Shame, I’ll have to tell my bosses it was all you and I couldn’t approach,” Crowley said artfully.

“Oh?” Aziraphale looked at him, confused.

“They’re terrified of you now,” she grinned, “Guess they don’t know what I know.”

“And what do you know?” Aziraphale seemed to be playing along. Good.

“One last ricotta, honey, and lemon cake? For old times’ sake?” She said, ignoring his question and holding up the cake in question, which she had miraculously picked up from a small popina as she’d run past.

“Of course, but what do you know about me?” Aziraphale took the cake but was determined not to be distracted. The closed the doors of the gate together.

Crowley smiled as slyly as it is possible to smile, “You’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”

She watched the recognition flitter across Aziraphale’s face, that moment all those years ago. They sat, watching each other, waiting for the other to speak. They were so close, but unable to move closer. Crowley hoped Aziraphale was as aware of it as she was.

“I’m to leave Rome,” Aziraphale sighed, looking away and changing the conversation.

Despite her disappointment, Crowley responded, “Where to?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know yet. They say the centre of power in Europe is shifting and I’m supposed to follow it. Sometimes I feel like they’re being deliberately vague,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Yeah, I get that.” Crowley replied.

“Well, I appreciate the cake, but I suppose I’d best be off.” Aziraphale moved away and Crowley could have sworn the temperature dropped as he did.

“I’ll see you around,” She replied lazily.

“I suspect you will,” Aziraphale said back, and she could have sworn that he had a twinkle in his eye as he did. Well, that was adding sparks to the torch she kept for him.


End file.
